Setting the bouquet down next to the other, I smile, knowing my dad must’ve already came by. Freddie smells both bouquets, his tail wagging happily.
My dad and I try to come here together if we can every year. It’s always a hard day for him. But this year, we’re coming on our own time because he can’t get out ofwork. I thought he was stopping by later, but from the looks of the second bouquet, he’s already been by.
She was his everything before she was killed.
He’s never moved on, never remarried or even been on a date. I’ve tried to encourage him to try again, but he’s always assured me that there’s only one woman for him and she’s the only one there’ll ever be.
My dad has shown me time and time again that love should never be conditional, and it never has been with him, both for my mom and for me.
He’s one of the reasons I pursued a career in love. I’ve been infatuated with stories of it my entire life, always yearning for a happily ever after of my own. I like to think that I’m a fairy godmother for our clients, helping them find a lasting relationship.
Standing up, I take a picture of our flowers together before sending him a quick message.
You beat me
My dad answers almost immediately, his response shocking me to the core.
Dad: I haven’t stopped by yet. Heading there this afternoon.
Then who the hell left these?
An odd calmness finds me because I know the answer. There’s only one person it could be. Kerrigan is a part of this tradition and if she were to stop by for any reason, she’d do it with me.
Which leaveshim.
I send my masked valentine a text.
Thank you for doing this
My Masked Valentine: It was my pleasure
Stowing my phone in my purse, I rock back and forth on my heels before slipping my hands in my pockets. I think I’m going to spend a few minutes with my mom before I head to work, and tell her all about my masked valentine . . . well the tame version anyway.
This morning was peaceful and warm for a wintry Minnesota morning. I’m still frozen to the core as I pull open the front door to Bound-to-Be, but in terms ofcoldin MN, it’s tolerable.
A shudder runs through me as I stomp my boots on the rug, the snow falling onto the mat. I slip my coat off and hang it on the rack as Kerrigan walks over to me, wide-eyed, with a forced smile on her face.
I set Freddie down and unhook him. He runs over to Julia, accepting all the love she gives him.
I shift my attention back to Kerrigan. “What is it?”
She tiptoes over to me quickly, her voice a soft whisper. “One of your dad’s players is here. He’s in the bathroom. I googled his name. Oh, and he’shot. Likehoooot.”
My stomach drops as I process Kerrigan’s words.
“One of my dad’shockey playersis in our matchmaking business?” I reiterate her statement in my question, confused more than anything.
Hockey players in general don’t often struggle to find partners. Pro hockey players? They have to fight puck bunnies off with a ten-foot pole.
I’m not mad at whoever is here. We are honestly the best option for him because we weed out the people who are just chasing the money and profession over who the players really are. Maybe my dad gave him a recommendation. That makes sense.
Excitement starts to take over the initial shock and hesitancy. The bathroom door opens, but only the top of the door is visible over the tall divider that creates a sense of privacy.
He walks around the corner, and my body instantly heats, probably from my blood boiling, as I see Bates Finnegan smirk at me, sauntering over like he owns the place.
Anyone buthim.
My face falls, twisting with annoyance, as my arms cross over my chest.
